


Cold

by SupremeBotDaddy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Harry is dead, M/M, Read at your risk, Suicide, harry was sick, no happy ending, tom doesnt know how to heal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremeBotDaddy/pseuds/SupremeBotDaddy
Summary: Tom blamed himself. He didn't know what else to do. (This is inspired by the death of a close family member)TRIGGER WARNING: There is suicide and mentions of alcoholism. I tried not to be too descriptive with the suicide, but even so, be careful. You have been warned.





	1. Chapter 1

Crashing deep inside him were the sorrowful waves of grief. He was drowning. There was nothing he could do. He lost the one person he was capable of loving. Tom Riddle, Voldemort, had lost Harry Potter. 

It had been a few days just after Harry’s death. Tom had lost all ability to take care of himself due to mourning. The death eaters could only watch with worry as their lord wasted away, simply an empty shell of what he once was.

Two weeks passed. Slowly, Tom learned to find his words again. He still wasn’t okay, but he was better than he had been. His heart  _ ached _ from the void Harry’s passing had left in it. He had to find  _ something _ to fill it. But what could he possibly find?

Time trickled by at the speed of molasses. Tom was still reserved, keeping himself locked within his chambers to reminisce about his lost lover. He could feel the emptiness within him growing, swallowing him whole until he was too lost to find his way out. What did he live for? Harry was gone. Nothing could change that. 

Three months came and went. No one could stop Tom from visiting Harry’s grave every single day. He would stay for hours upon hours, barely holding himself together, so close to breaking down. Lovingly he would clean up the dry, shriveled petals from the flowers he had left before and would dust off the fine layer of dirt that clung to the stone before setting a new bouquet of fresh pink carnations, forget-me-nots, and one crimson rose. Tom couldn’t help but to blame himself for what had happened. 

Three months, ten days. Tom grew angry. He should have  _ known _ Harry was sick. He  _ saw _ how little Harry had been eating. He  _ saw _ him rush to the bathroom after every meal. Yet Tom did nothing for him. He didn’t try to get him to see a doctor. He didn’t ask him what was wrong. Tom just  _ didn’t. _ He supposed that he was in denial that Harry was sick. Unwilling to accept the truth that Harry was gravely ill. It wasn’t until the diagnosis had came in that Tom had come to realize the reality of the situation.  _ Harry was going to die. _ There had been nothing the doctors could do except try to make him as comfortable as possible until he passed. Tom was furious that they were unwilling to try to save him.

Four months Tom grieved. He would do anything to have Harry back by his side. It wasn’t fair. What cruel being had decided that Tom should lose the only light in his world? He sat at Harry’s grave once more, a half empty bottle of gin resting beside him. 

“Harry…” He sighed, running a hand through his untrimmed hair. The stubborn lump of grief clogged his throat and he couldn’t say more. He took a swig of gin to try and wash the lump away, but it persisted. “Bloody hell…” He couldn’t form the words. He  _ needed _ to say  _ something _ . Even if he was just talking to a stone with Harry’s name on it. 

“Merlin, Harry… I’m  _ so _ …” Tom attempted again. “I’m so bloody  _ sorry _ . I should have done something. I should have made you get a check up sooner. I just… I just was so bloody  _ scared _ of losing you.” He let out a dry laugh. “But it was because of that that I lost you.” Tom choked out a sob and covered his eyes with his free hand. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

A whole year passed. The shock of Harry’s death was slowly fading from Tom’s mind. He had stopped drinking. He took better care of himself. It was the anniversary of that day. The day Tom lost his light. He was visiting Harry’s grave with a small vase of primroses and a small velvet box. He bit his lower lip. Slowly, he set the vase down in front of the tombstone.

“I never got the chance to ask you to marry me…” Tom said in a tender voice as he sat down, the velvet box held tightly in his hand. “You probably would have said yes, right? You used to talk about marriage sometimes. Merlin, I wish I had done it. I had plans for it, but I was always too nervous that you would say no or laugh because it was so cheesy.” He chuckled softly to himself. “I was going to take you to the place we went to on our first date, if I ever had gone through with it. I was going to pretend that I forgot something and then tell you to wait just a minute before apparating away. When I apparated back, I was going to be on one knee and holding the ring you to you before asking the question… But I was never brave enough for that. It still sounds so cheesy, even after all this time.” A few stray tears made their way down Tom’s cheeks as he spoke to the grave. His chest still ached with grief, but it was dull instead of the heart wrenching sharpness it had been initially. He was starting to recover. Tom managed to crack a partial smile.

“So this is my belated proposal,” He murmured, pulling the ring out of the box. It was a  simple ring. Just a silver band with eight embedded emeralds that glittered in the sunlight. Tom’s own wedding band was gold with eight rubies inside it, worn around his neck on a chain. “I guess I’ll never know whether you liked the ring or not… You probably would have chided me for being so cheesy, having the rings match our house colors.” He smiled gently before reaching down and burying the Slytherin colored ring in the dirt at the base of Harry’s tombstone.

One year, two months, three days. Tom had fallen into a depression once more. He had thought that going to a support group would have helped, but it only tore open wounds he thought had healed. He sobbed violently and gritted his teeth, running his hands nervously through his hair. He reeked of alcohol, he wasn’t thinking straight, he could only focus on Harry and how he had felt at the moment that flatline sounded. A cold fist squeezed his heart, his very soul, he couldn’t handle it. Blood rushed through his head, almost as if searching for any way to escape. Tom let out an anguished scream as he lost his self-control. He couldn’t live without Harry. Tom rushed to the bathroom and grabbed a razor, bringing it to the soft skin of his wrist and cutting deeply. He sobbed as the tension flooded out of him, landing as his blood on the tiled floor of the bathroom. He switched hands and slashed open his other wrist, the razor gliding painlessly through his numb flesh. Was it  _ really _ painless, Tom couldn’t tell. He dropped the razor once the deed was finished and just let the blood flow, staining his clothes, his hands, everything. But it freed his soul. Freezing numbness washed over Tom.

Tom closed his eyes and soon was gone.

 


	2. The Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate ending.

Five months after Harry’s death, Tom started to see a cat hanging around Harry’s grave. The cat had long, fluffy fur that was dappled black and white, but he seemed malnourished and underweight. What really caught Tom’s attention were the cat’s green eyes. They reminded him of Harry. Sometimes Tom would bring food for the cat and the cat would just sit beside him, purring contentedly as Tom absently pet it.

Seven months later, it seemed that the cat would be waiting for him by the grave. Tom didn’t know whether it was because he fed it or if it was because it could sense the grief he felt. Tom almost welcomed the fact that the cat was there to comfort him. He had dubbed the cat Evans, in honor of Harry’s mother. He didn’t know when the name popped up, but it stuck and Tom didn’t feel the need to complain about it. Tom was considering fully adopting him, but he still needed more time to prepare for a cat. He had never thought about owning a pet before, but perhaps it would be a good thing for him.

The eighth month, Tom came to the cemetery. Evans was there at Harry’s grave as usual, sitting with his tail neatly curled over his black and white paws. Tom naturally smiled at the sight of the majestic cat. Evans’ ears twitched and he looked toward Tom when he approached. 

“Hey Harry,” Tom hummed as he sat down by Harry’s grave. “Hey Evans.” There was no reply to Tom’s greeting. It only caused a small ache in his heart, but he ignored the feeling. He knew that cats couldn’t talk, and the dead certainly weren’t able to either. Evans purred and stood, stretching his back in an arch before stepping tentatively on Tom’s leg. Tom smiled and didn’t try to stop the cat as Evans climbed into the pit his crossed legs created, and curled up. Tom pet Evans slowly, admiring his soft fur. Evans closed his eyes halfway and purred as he lightly kneaded his paws against Tom’s leg. 

A year passed. Two months since Evans had moved in with Tom. Evans was looking a lot healthier than he had before, now a plump furball that lazed in the sunlight on the windowsill. Tom had been sitting on the couch, looking through old photos of Harry. Occasionally he would run across one that had himself in it as well, such as when he had taken Harry to a nice muggle bar and they ended up sharing one milkshake with two straws. Tom blushed lightly at the memory, staring down at Harry’s smile in the picture and watching the way he himself looked embarrassed. It was so cheesy that it made him ache again with grief. Why couldn’t things have stayed that way? Why couldn’t Tom and Harry just have continued making cheesy memories like that? Tom was pulled from his thoughts by the familiar weight of Evans settling down in his lap. Tom chuckled softly. He didn’t know how Evans knew the exact time to come to him, but he greatly appreciated it. The few times Tom had tried to explain his feelings to a therapist or a support group, no one had understood. Those failures to get help had made Tom often feel like he shouldn’t stay in the world, but then Evans would come and remind him exactly why he was needed. 

Two more years went by in almost a flash. Tom still spent most of his time at home, but only because he had taken up painting as another way to heal his emotional scars. His home was now littered with various painting supplies, canvases, works in progress, and more. Tom often found himself recreating scenes from his memories with Harry. He only felt the ghost of mourning when he did so, but he felt more…  _ free _ . A few stray tears would sometimes find their way to his eyes, but Tom didn’t care. This was his calling. 

Four years. Tom still would visit Harry’s grave for his birthday, their anniversaries, and holidays. He was becoming a successful artist, having sold a few pieces for a good amount of money. He wasn’t sure whether he necessarily  _ wanted _ to sell his paintings. They were pieces of his memories, made with the love he was never supposed to feel. How could he just…  _ sell them? _ Evans broke his thoughts with a meow from the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that was much much lighter lol, lemme know how I did. Also, yes, it is meant to end at the meow.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the passing of my grandfather. He died from esophageal cancer that spread aggressively, and that is what Harry's symptoms are even though I wasn't too focused on that. I was more focused on Tom's feelings because I needed to write some kind of outlet for what I myself was feeling (though I promise that I don't feel like doing what Tom did at the end). Feel free to leave some feedback, okay?


End file.
